


Small Comforts

by IdShipThis



Series: Thankful for the Scars [1]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Best Friends, Comfort, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Grief/Mourning, Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-02-25 23:55:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18712297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IdShipThis/pseuds/IdShipThis
Summary: Two people moving on. Kind of.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't even my ship. 
> 
> If I were someone who writes methodically and cared about timelines this would take place after Infinity War. This will most likely be a hot mess.

“Do you eat anything besides peanut butter?” Steve frowns as he stares into the pantry at the Avengers’ facility. It’s late and he’s starving, having skipped dinner before the support group meeting he leds.

Natasha stands beside him and shrugs, her shoulder bumping his arm a little. “No one else is here much. There’s not really a point to having a lot of groceries.”

There’s no possible way for Steve to frown deeper, so he grabs a few things from the shelves and sets them on the counter. Natasha watches curiously as he makes an assembly line of goods and bowls, and places a frying pan on the stove.

“What the hell are you making?” She asks while he spreads peanut butter and jelly on four slices of bread. He dips the sandwich in a dish of eggs, then in another of crunched up cereal, before he sets them in the pan.

“Peanut butter and jelly,” he replies simply.

“Is this how you made it in the forties, or…?”

“No, I saw it on Facebook.”

She isn’t quite sure how to react to that statement, so she keeps watching as he deep fries a sandwich for her, slices it into quarters, and places it on the counter in front of her with a wide smile before doing the same for himself.

“Is this what killed Elvis?” Natasha grins at her own joke, but Steve rolls his eyes. She takes a bite and moans a little.

“I think it was peanut butter and banana for him. I was frozen, remember?”

“I wasn’t born yet,” she says through a mouthful.

He just shakes his head as takes the stool at the counter next to her, his eyes loaded with questions. Natasha sighs before Steve even opens his mouth.

“I didn’t even say anything!” He protests with a quiet laugh.

“You were going to,” she grumbles back.

“No. I just came by to check in. That’s all.”

Natasha pulls the crust off her sandwich and stares at her plate. It’s been two years and there’s still no sign of Clint. Well, no sign except the bodies. Rhodey tries, but no one is fast enough to find him. No one but her, as far as they know, anyway. Steve tries to help, but he’s got his own stuff he’s working on.

Things aren’t easy.

He turns on his stool and their knees touch, his jeans against her spandex. She’d been in the gym before he’d arrived, trying to keep her mind off…everything. While he watches her, he takes a bite of his sandwich and ends up with a little glob of peanut butter on his cheek. Natasha smiles and reaches out to wipe it away with her thumb. Before she can pull her hand away, he grabs it and brings it back to his face. Their eyes meet as he puts her thumb in his mouth, licking the peanut butter off it.

She doesn’t say anything as he lowers their hands, just takes a deep, steadying breath and stands up, feeling a little unsure of herself.

But then, without a second thought, she kisses him.

It’s obviously not the first time they’ve kissed. There was that moment, once, while on the run from the Strike Team. And she might’ve gotten drunk after the Accords, but it didn’t go anywhere, and Steve was too much of a gentleman to say anything.

They aren’t on the run now, though. And they’re alone for reasons neither one of them really want to remember.

He stands with his hands on her waist, hers rested against his chest. Without a word she takes his hand and before Steve can say anything, she’s dragging him down the hall to her room. He hasn’t been in her room in months. Truthfully, he’s avoided the facility altogether. It hurts too much.

The room is bare expect the essentials: a bed, dresser, balled up pajamas on the floor. But none of that matters to them. All that matters is them, and the moment they are in. Shirts being tugged over heads, pants pushed over hips, lips and bodies meeting. All that matters is that, for a little while, they can forget.

Later, he wakes up alone. The empty side of the bed is cold, so he pulls on his jeans and makes his way through the hallways. Passed the closed doors of the rooms filled with dusty belongings and painful memories. He grabs two bottles of water from the kitchen and finds her in the gym, just like he thought he would. Setting the water bottles down, he moves to where she stands in front of a punching bag. Sneaking up on her isn’t an option, but still, his bare feet hardly make a sound on the mat beneath them. He’s nearly close enough to touch her when she spins, kicks his feet out from under him, and laughs.

“Nice try,” she says as she kneels next to him with a hand on his bare chest, holding him down.

“I wasn’t trying anything,” he wheezes, the breath knocked out of him.

Natasha stands and holds a hand out to help Steve up. He takes it and pulls her down with him. She lands so her hands are on either side of his head and their faces are inches apart. Steve reaches up and pushes a few stray strands of her red hair from her face and then pulls her closer. He’s nervous about it, not sure how she’ll react, but he wants to kiss her. To his surprise, and delight, she closes the distance between them. His arms wrap around her and he rolls so she’s under him, the lengths of their bodies pressed together.

“There are cameras in here,” she says when he pulls away to slip her shirt up and off her.

They lock eyes for a moment before understanding dawns on her. It’s like she’s been doused with ice water. No one is here to watch any footage anyway. They are the only ones left. She kisses him again before the thought can take off. Being with him last night, like this, made her forget. And she wants to forget again.


	2. Chapter Two

“Oh. Hey.” Steve says, a little surprised, as he opens the door to find Natasha on the other side.

She smiles, a teasing little thing playing on her lips as she slips in, gently brushing against him. She’s in jeans and a t-shirt and the crown of her head glitters with raindrops. He closes the door and smooths his hand gently over the stray wisps of hair that must’ve frizzed in the rain.  

“Sorry to just show up,” she says after his hand drops from her hair to her shoulder, then uselessly to his side.

“No, you’re fine.” He touches her elbow gently as they make their way through the apartment. “The rain cut my run short, and I was just about to take a shower. Hang out for a minute?”

Natasha nods, and Steve doesn’t have to tell her to make herself at home because he knows she will. Sometimes when she comes over, she purposely moves stuff around so Steve can’t find it the next day. While he showers, she slips out of her shoes, makes two cups of coffee, steals his hoodie, and puts a record on. It’s a slow and mellow tune and it fills the space nicely.

She’s sitting on the couch with her feet tucked under her when he emerges from his room in a clean shirt and a pair of sweats. He sits at the other end of the couch and picks up the mug of coffee and she can’t help but appreciate how his shirt hugs every little bit of him. If he notices her staring, he’s enough of a gentleman that he doesn’t mention it. Though she’s caught him staring at her plenty of times and always has a smart remark when it happens.

“Is this decaf? I’m over a hundred years old,” he jokes lamely before taking a sip. “You know it’ll keep me up all night.”

“That’s what I’m planning on.” Natasha smirks over her coffee cup. Steve rolls his eyes, but she can tell he’s blushing in the dim light of his apartment.  

He sighs quietly and rests his arm on the back of the couch. Natasha takes it as an invitation to close the gap between them. She settles in next to him, their hips touching as she pulls her stocking feet up in front of her. Steve’s fingers are gentle as they run through her hair, wrapping a blonde tip around his finger. It’s grown so much in the past couple of years and the blonde makes him almost nostalgic for their days on the run.

Almost.

Natasha leans in him and she can feel his eyes on her. She doesn’t say anything, though. Now’s not the time. They’re quiet as the music plays and they drink their coffee. Her eyes drift to the bookshelf across the room as Steve leans forward to rest his coffee on the table in front of them. He rests his bare feet on the table and settles his hand on her thigh, his arm crossing over her body. Natasha settles behind his shoulder, reveling in the heaviness of him.

“Do you think about them?” Her question is quiet, but the intention feels loud.

 _Them_ could mean so many people but her eyes are on a picture on the top shelf. He follows her gaze and smiles a little. It’s the Howling Commandos in all their rowdy glory.

“It’s weird because I know what happened to all of them. I know they moved on, they kept fighting the good fight and everything…” he trails off, his eyes on the picture. “Part of me wishes I could have been there.”

She takes the hand that’s resting on her thigh and flips it so she can lace their fingers together.

“I read their files. They were pretty badass.”

He smiles and turns to her. “Yeah, they were.”

“Peggy most of all.”

His eyes tighten, flick to the picture, and back to Natasha.

“Yeah,” he says again. “She was something else.”

“I wish I could have met her, but she had already stepped away by the time S.H.I.E.L.D. brought me on.”

“Why did you act like you didn’t know who she was? When we found Zola?”

Natasha glanced down at their hands for a long moment before gently pulling her fingers free.

“I guess I was just trying to get a reaction out of you.” She shrugs.

Steve nods and tightens his hand on her thigh.

“She would have liked you.”

Her raised eyebrow makes him laugh quietly, but he doesn’t elaborate and neither does she.

“Were you in love?” Natasha asks after a moment.

Steve takes a deep breath. He eyes the photo again before focusing on some point across the room.

“Yes? As much as you can be in the middle of a war. There wasn’t much alone time, but we managed. There was so much potential once the war was over, though.”

“Only you never saw that happen, did you?”

He shakes his head and she takes his hand again. It feels weird, but right, to be there with him. It gets easier to talk about stuff like this, the normal things, the lives they used to live.

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Have you ever…?”

Natasha shakes her head, thoughtfully. Has she ever been in love? Has she ever been herself with anyone long enough to fall in love with them or have them fall in love with her?

Does Clint count? If she really thinks about him it’s so much more than _love_. It’s a matching of souls, as stupid as it sounds. He was her other half, but not in a romantic way. Not for her, at least.

“No,” she says, confirming the shake of her head. “I don’t think so.”

Steve looks at her then, and there’s something in his eyes that makes her ache inside. It’s been so long since anyone has looked at her like he has. She doesn’t know if it’s love and she really doesn’t care at this point. The world is a disaster, but what she does know is that guy, this _man_ , enjoys her company. For the moment it’s enough.

He kisses her, shifting so he can slide an arm behind her back and pull her into his lap, her legs on either side of him. This isn’t love. Hell, it really isn’t even lust when they get down to it. It’s loneliness. Sadness. Pain. It’s so many things that disappear for just a little while when they’re together.

They laugh as they leave a trail of clothes down the hallway, their conversation forgotten. It doesn’t matter anyway. Everyone is gone and they are all that’s left. Might as well make the most of it.

xXx

“Holy shit,” he says quietly.

“Is it the best you’ve ever had?”

“I wouldn’t go that far. It’s pretty good, though.”

“Let me try,” she laughs and dips her spoon into his pint of Hulk-A-Hulk-A-Burning  Fudge. He tries to swat her away, but she’s too fast. “That’s pretty good. Better than Stark’s, for sure.”

“Hm,” is all Steve responds with as he takes another bite and lets his eyes trail over her long legs that dangle from where she’s sitting on the counter.

He’s shirtless, resting in the corner next to her and, damn, if he doesn’t look perfect standing there holding a carton of ice cream. It’s so domestic and different from _The Man, The Myth, The Legend: Steve Rogers._ His hair is gently mussed from her fingers running through it and there might be a bit of a bite mark on his shoulder, but she’s not going to say anything about that.

Steve sets his now empty container on the counter and Natasha hands him hers. “Want the rest of this one?”

“No, I’m watching my figure,” he says with a teasing smile.

She rolls her eyes and gestures to his perfect abs.

“Yeah, it must be hard having a super-metabolism.”

“Hey!” He protests and she laughs again, then grabs at him. She pulls him between her knees and into a kiss. He tastes sweet, like the ice cream, but also a little like what she thinks might be happiness.

It’s nice.


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't really know what I'm doing with this. I just have some feels. I hope you're enjoying it.

“Nat?” Steve finds the living area of the facility empty, though the television is on some news channel and there’s a half empty bottle of some undetermined liquor sitting on the table. He sighs and turns to go to the kitchen in search of her, but Natasha is standing right behind him.

“Hi,” she says flatly before taking a sip from the glass in her hand. “What are you doing here?”

“I called,” he tells her, following her back into the living room.

“Oh.” Natasha sits, tops off her drink, and leans back against the couch. “Want one?” She asks, holding up her glass.

Steve narrows his eyes at her. It’s not that he doesn’t drink, because he does. But it also has no effect on him, so he doesn’t often see the point. He takes the bottle from in front of her, though, and sets it on a side table before sitting down next to her.

“Want to talk about it?” He asks quietly.

She takes another drink and then sits up to put her glass down. For a moment Natasha doesn’t say anything, so Steve thinks she’s just collected her thoughts. When she turns to him, the look in her eyes tells him otherwise.

“You know, I really don’t,” is what she says as she pulls off her shirt and climbs into his lap. She takes his face in her hands and kisses him hard. His hands go to her hips and gently push her away.

“Hey,” Steve says gently, but she closes her eyes and presses her forehead against his. He brushes her hair from her face, and she shakes her head.

“I can’t. Not right now.”

His kiss is softer than hers and his hands are gentle on her skin. Steve knows firsthand how strong Natasha can be, but he also knows that everyone has a breaking point. He knows that they have both seen their own points many times in the past couple of years.

“Steve,” she breathes out his name and what little resistance he thought he had crumbles. It isn’t that he doesn’t _want_ to. Just that he knows something is bothering her and they’ve gotten good at talking about things lately. He groans and pushes her off his lap so they can stand. Natasha raises an eyebrow at him, and he scoops up her shirt before taking her hand.

“Stop leaving your clothes everywhere,” he tells her before pulling her toward the hall.

“Stop taking my clothes off me everywhere,” she retorts with a smirk. 

He doesn’t argue, just pulls her back against his chest and kisses her bare shoulder while she leads the way. Though the facility is almost always empty it’s also always under surveillance, just in case.

Everywhere except the bedrooms, that is.

 

xXx

Steve wakes up out of a nightmare sometime in the night. He doesn’t remember the exact details of it, but he knows it’s one he’s had before. It’s not often they wake him up like this but when they do there’s no hope of going back to sleep.

 Natasha, however, is asleep next to him, hair spilling over her pillow, lips parted. She’s usually a light sleeper but he doesn’t know how much she drank before he got there. That always influences her. So, he moves slowly so as not to wake up and finds a pair of sweats and an undershirt in one of the dresser drawers that one of them must’ve shoved there. He doesn’t remember if it was himself or Natasha. This relationship, or whatever it is, of theirs is so very strange and comfortable sometimes.

He takes a glass of water into the main office Natasha uses for calls and research. There are a few plates and cups around the room, so he cleans it up before settling behind the desk. It doesn’t take much of scanning through the files Natasha left up to see what her had so upset. It’s been nearly four years since half of the population has been wiped out and they are still finding messes and tragedies every single day. He wipes a hand over his face and closes his eyes. He knows how strong Natasha is. He has seen her in battle without the aide of super strength. He’s seen her fight more times than he can count. But he’s also seen her breakdown after a loss and right now, after seeing what she was working on, he wishes he could have been there for her. Instead of wasting time on what he didn’t do or couldn’t have done, he gets to work. Steve does what he can with the information he’s got. He sends emails and sets up teams and points people toward places that offer immediate help.

The work takes him a while and when he stops to stretch and get his mind off it for a moment, he sees Natasha standing in the doorway. He doesn’t know how long she’s been there. She smiles, but it’s thin. 

“I thought you left,” she says softly.

“And left my shirt?” He gestures to his dark t-shirt draped over her lithe figure and she shrugs.

“Figured you’d left it for me. You know I like them.”

Steve laughs quietly and Natasha’s smile is a little less thin at the sound of it.

“Coffee?” She asks and he looks at the wall clock. It’s late and not on the verge of being early, but now that they are both awake and sober, they might as well work.

“Coffee,” he agrees.

She comes back a few minutes later, places the mugs on the desk, then perches on the edge. He gazes at her, but she doesn’t meet his eyes.

“This is what you were working on?” Steve asks softly.

Natasha nods and picks up a mug, just to have something to do with her hands. She sips slowly while she thinks about what she wants to say.

“I thought that, after those first days of finding them…after sending in crews and doing extractions. I thought that it would get easier.”

He rests a hand on her thigh, and she reaches down to grip his fingers.

_Children_.

There are children all over the world who are dead or dying. Reports coming in from everywhere.

Still.

It was common after the snap, and it was difficult. Driving parents leaving children alone in cars, babies and toddlers left alone, children at schools. No matter where they were, alive or not, it was always hard. It was always just a reminder of how big they had lost.

“I think it means something that it can still affect you this way,” he says, and she closes her eyes.

“That I’m weak?” She asks and sets down her mug. She takes his hand in both of hers.

“No.” He shakes his head and pulls her to him, into his lap, almost cradling her. She curls into him, face pressed to his shoulder and arm around his neck. “That even after everything you still have your heart. Your compassion.”

She snorts and he laughs a little. 

“You might be the only person to ever describe me that way, Rogers.”

Steve presses his cheek to the top of her head and sighs. “They don’t know you like I do.”

“You mean in the Biblical sense?” She grins up at him, trying to diffuse the mood that has settled around them.

He rolls his eyes and shifts so he can reach his coffee. She does the same, still situated in his lap resting against the arm of the chair with her knees pulled up to her chest.

“You’re so annoying. You know what I mean.”

Natasha touches her mug to his in a soft salute. “Yeah, I know.”

They are quiet for a moment, both lost in their thoughts. She turns to him and touches his cheek with her free hand. He lets her pull him close and kiss his cheek. It’s a gentle gesture and one that brings out a shyness in her. Kissing, touching, and teasing as foreplay are one thing but hand holding, and soft kisses are a different relationship level for them both.

For a long time, they would avoid one another after a night or day or afternoon together, but it isn’t like that anymore. Steve doesn’t know if they are _together_ , but he knows that they aren’t with anyone else. He knows that Natasha is the first one he calls, texts, or wants to see after he gets any new type of information or basically when anything happens.

“Thank you,” her words are soft and full of gratitude.

He smiles, kisses her forehead, and then her lips.

“Uh, is this a bad time?” A voice startles them apart and causes them both to almost spill the hot coffee they are still holding.

Rocket stands on the other side of the desk. Well, a holograph of him stands there anyway. They set their mugs down and Natasha moves to stand but remembers she’s only in Steve’s shirt, so she stays perched on his knee as he tries to sit up straight.

The genetically engineered raccoon watches it all with a little smirk on his furry face.

“I knew it,” he mutters while rubbing his hands together.

They exchange a glance while Rocket mutters to himself. Steve’s ears are spectacularly pink, and Natasha is trying to smooth her hair.

“Did you need us?” Steve finally asks and Rocket snaps out of it.

“Oh. No. I pop in from time to time just in case.”

“Just in case what?” Natasha eyes him.

“Just in case this happens. Bye.” He’s gives them a wave and the call disconnects.

“Did we just get found out by a raccoon?” Natasha asks after a moment.

“You know he doesn’t like to be called that.” Steve frowns.

“That’s really not the point I’m trying to make here.” She turns to him with raised eyebrows, but all he can do is laugh.

He pulls her close, wrapping her in a tight embrace and hoping that, no matter what she’s feeling or going through, his presence makes her feel a little more safe because he knows that she does it for him.


	4. Chapter Four

“Thanks again, Steve. Next week, right?”

Natasha watches from the doorway just outside of where Steve’s small group meets. Steve answers the man with a smile and a handshake, but he hasn’t seen her yet. She’s been there for a few minutes, listening in to some of their conversations and then Steve’s closing. Natasha must admit; he’s got a way with words.

Even if they aren’t words that he lives by all the time.

As the last person files out and Steve starts to stack the chairs, she finally steps in.

“We meet on Thursdays at seven o’clock, if you want…oh,” he stops when he turns around and sees that it’s her coming toward him.

“Seven, you said?” Natasha asks and checks an imaginary watch. “Just missed it.”

He rolls his eyes and gestures for her to help with the chairs. She does, stacking faster than he does and after she’s done, she climbs on top of her stack and swings her legs back and forth, smiling.

“Is everything a competition with you?” He leans an elbow on the top chair she’s sitting on and she laughs, then reaches out to pinch his cheek.

“Yes.” She holds out her hand and he takes it, letting her jump down and land quietly next to him. He doesn’t let go of her hand as they start out of the room. He turns of the lights and makes certain the door is locked before they leave.

“Are you hungry?”

Natasha shrugs. “Sure. Anything around here?”

Steve frowns, thinking. “Pizza joint. Coffee shop. Sh-“

“Shawarma?” She interrupts, hopeful.                                               

He laughs and lets go of her hand so he can wrap his arm around her shoulders. The night is cool, but she’s cozy in his hoodie.

“I looked for that jacket everywhere this morning,” he tells her, looking both ways before pulling her across the street.

“You should be more careful about where you leave your things.”

There are few cars on the road but not as many as New York would have had four years ago. Some of the shop windows are boarded up and some were simply busted out. They did their best to keep the peace, but it wasn’t always easy. Missing person posters are stuck to the plywood and telephone poles. Natasha’s fingers trail over them as they walk down the street. Steve’s arm tightens around her shoulders.

He pays for their shawarma and they take a little wrought iron table outside the restaurant. She asks about his group and she fills him in on the latest from the space crew. It’s nice, their _togetherness_. When they finish, Steve cleans up their trash and Natasha hands him a mint she nabbed from by the cash register. He raises an eyebrow at the mint, then at her. Then he kisses her. She laughs and pushes him away.

“When’s the last time you went on a date?” Natasha asks as they walk, her arm linked through his.

“A date?” He almost chokes on his mint. “You know I haven’t been on a date since…”

“What? Like, 1945? 2015?”

“Shit, probably one of those. Why? When’s the last time you went on a date?” His eyes narrow as he cuts a glance to her.

She laughs and jostles him with her shoulder. “Honestly? Never?”

”Really?” Steve stops walking and turns to her, surprised.

“Yeah.” Natasha shrugs. “I just…it was never an option, I guess.”

He takes her hand, fingers lacing together perfectly, and starts walking again.

“Before the war, Bucky used to try to set me up with all kinds of girls.”

“Never worked out?”

Steve laughs and shakes his head. “No, it never worked out. They weren’t really interested in a skinny little sick kid.”

Natasha doesn’t say anything for a while, so they walk in silence for a couple of blocks. Occasionally people pass by with their eyes downcast. Sometimes they meet eyes warily. She tries to smile at everyone because she knows how far a kind gesture can go.

“I think I would have liked that guy,” she finally says. Steve squeezes her hand. “He doesn’t sound much different than the one I know now.”

“Well,” Steve takes a deep breath, like he’s about to drop some profound truth, “I’m definitely a little taller.”

She shoves him a little again and they laugh quietly as the climb the steps to his apartment. Steve makes them drinks when they get inside and Natasha picks up his tablet, swiping through messages and intel. He joins her on the couch, and they talk about what’s happening. Things Rhodey has sent them, messages from Carol and Rocket. They talk until they’ve come back around to the same subjects and their glasses are empty for the second or third time.

“Do you want to go on a date?” Steve asks quietly after putting the tablet on its charger and putting on a record. She loves this quiet, artistic side of him. It’s like she can imagine him in the forties, listening to music and drawing.

“Rogers, I think we’re past the point of a first date,” she laughs and rests her hand on the back of his neck.

He turns to her with a small quirk of his lips.

“Nah,” he says, then he takes her hand away from his neck and kisses her knuckles softly.

She frowns a little, glances out the window, then back at him. He let’s their hands drop to rest on his thigh.

“Let’s not ruin what we’ve got here, okay?”

“Which is…?”

“What? Do you want a label?” Natasha laughs a little but stops when she sees the look on Steve’s face. She pulls her hand away.

Her stomach flips a little at the look in his eyes and the proximity of his body. This thing between them started out so _easy_. It was just sex, _really great sex_ , between two lonely and consenting adults. They had each other because there was no one else. That was it.

Wasn’t it?

No. It’s been over two years since it started. In those two years she let him in more than she’d ever let anyone else, even Clint, in. Steve Rogers saw her on her darkest days and still lived to tell about it. He knows all her scars, literally and figuratively, and still wants to be around her. He makes it a point to call or text her when they can’t see each other, and it isn’t even always about work.

“Do you want another drink?” He asks but stands up and leaves the room before she can answer, taking both of their glasses with him.

She sighs and reaches for the sketchbook he’d left out of the table, her fingers trail down the smooth spine of the book before opening it slowly. And there _she_ is.

It’s her face, shaded in charcoal, eyes looking off into the distance and lips smiling. _She_ smiles as she touches the page. He really does know her.

“Look, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…”

Steve trails off when he sees her with the book, and she swears he’s blushing in the dim light. He sets the drinks down and gently takes the book from her. With a little indignant sniff, he turns away, but she stands up and puts a hand on his arm. Steve turns, but before he can say anything her arms are around his neck and she’s pressing her lips to his, shutting up any self-deprecating thing he was going to say. He stumbles a little, surprised at her kiss, but one arm goes around her waist. The other still holds the sketchbook.

“Tasha,” he says softly, and she smiles against his mouth. This is a new nickname and she loves when “formal, proper, no-nonsense Steve Rogers” does unexpected things. Even something as simple as a stupid name.

Or drawing pictures of her.

“Are there more?” She whispers to his neck.

“A whole damn book,” he laughs but it sounds more like a groan.

“Am I naked in any of them?”

A beat. “No.”

“Well, take me out on a date and I’ll let you do one.”


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of this little story. I've created a series called "Thankful for the Scars" and will be expanding the little universe with these two. I hope you'll come back. Thank you for reading!

Steve plans the date. He plans a place for dinner, a romantic walk after, an adorable little ice cream shop that’s miraculously still open for dessert.

They do none of it.

Nothing happens because Scott Lang shows up. Then Bruce. Tony. The list goes on and soon enough there’s not time for anything but planning and training and saving the damn world. It’s hard for the first few days. They are so used to being alone, sitting closely, touching and kissing, that it takes them a little while to acclimate to more people being around. Steve moves into his own bedroom on a different level than Natasha’s, and the others do the same.

There’s still the little glances, though. The smiles and accidental brushes in the kitchen. Steve’s fingers always linger a little longer than they should when he’s handing off a tablet or file. Natasha always manages to rest her hand on his arm if she has something to say or squeeze his shoulder if she walks behind his chair. They both find it comforting knowing that the other is suffering just as much as they are.

It’s a little nerve-wracking when Rocket shows up, but he doesn’t say anything to either Steve or Natasha and they don’t press the issue. They do catch him watching them from time to time, but usually shrug it off. So many things are happening every moment of the day that there really isn’t much time to think about anything else.

“Let me come with you. I don’t want you to go alone.” Steve says as he watches her load a few things into the Quinjet. A bag with a change of clothes and toiletries, snacks, a book.

They are both dressed in their uniforms, it feels like forever since they’ve put them on but also no time at all. Both also find the other extremely attractive in the uniform, so there’s that. The reason for the formalness is that they’ve found Clint and Natasha has put it upon herself to go and get him.

“Steve,” she says is name firmly as he plants his hands on his hips, blocking her exit as she tries to walk by him.

She stops and rests a hand on his chest, eyes downcast as her fingers trace the white star of his uniform. He knows she’s strong, fast, and deadly. But he also kind of likes her company and doesn’t want anything bad to happen to her.

“ _Don’t_ tell me you’ll be fine,” he warns her quietly and catches her hand.

“It’s Clint,” she whispers to his chest. “It’s just Clint.”

“He’s not the same, Nat.”

It takes her a moment before she meets his eyes. She does so quickly, then glances behind him to make sure they are alone. She pulls her hand from his and her arms wrap around his neck. She presses her body close and inhales deeply. He grunts softly but his arms still go around her waist, holding her to him.

“We aren’t the same either, Rogers,” she says with her mouth dangerously close to his ear, “if we want this to work, we have to give him a chance, right?”

After a moment, he pulls away and nods reluctantly. He bends to kiss her, but there’s a voice behind them before he can. They lock eyes and Steve can see a smile forming on Natasha’s face.

“This is awkward,” Scott says from the opening of the cargo bay.

Steve closes his eyes and swallows hard. Natasha’s arms slip from around his neck, rest briefly on his chest again, and then she pushes herself away.

“I did not see this one coming.”

“Me either, Scott.” Natasha steps around Steve with a quiet laugh. She pats his shoulder in a patronizing way and he grumbles something intelligible under his breath.

“I’m assuming you’ll do terrible things to me if I tell anyone about this, right?” Scott asks when Steve finally turns around.

Steve doesn’t answer, Natasha does it for him.

“You assume right!” Natasha calls from just outside the jet.

Scott looks scared, but Steve smirks a little as he walks by. He catches Natasha’s arm when she comes back in, ready to leave.

“Please be careful,” he pleads as his fingers move down her arm and he squeezes her hand tightly.

“I’ll come back. Promise.” She touches his face gently, winks at Scott, and motions for them to leave.

They do, and Scott’s eyes are wide and full of questions. He’s been helpful and is putting himself on the line like everyone else, but Steve isn’t ready to answer anyone’s questions about him and Natasha. Steve just guides him away for Natasha to take off safely. 

Scott sighs. “I ruined a moment, didn’t I?”

Steve shakes his head and smiles. “It’s fine.”

“So…you want to talk about it?” Scott nudges Steve with his shoulder as they make their way back into the facility.

Steve turns his head to the sky where the jet is disappearing. His anxiety grows.

“No, not really.”

xXx

Clint is quiet and subdued, as everyone knew he would be. But he’s back and he wants to see this thing through. He and Natasha spend a lot of time together with Steve hovering nearby.

“You’re like a dad watching his daughter on her first date,” Steve hears Bruce behind him, and he stiffens. He’d been standing at the window for almost ten minutes watching Natasha and Clint walk around the grounds, talking, and wasn’t aware that the was being watched as well.

He also doesn’t like the idea of being compared to a dad, let alone Natasha’s.

“Just being cautious,” he murmurs. Bruce joins him at the window, his literally hulking form casting a shadow over Steve.

“He won’t hurt her. He loves her.”

Steve crosses his arms and looks down at his feet. He knows how Clint feels about Natasha, but he also knows that grief can do terrible things to people.

“What about…” Steve starts to say it before he can talk himself out of it. He knew there was a time when there may have been something between Bruce and Natasha, but that was before Bruce was stranded in space. Before they lost their friends.

“No,” Bruce says softly, knowing what Steve was thinking.

Oddly, he feels a weight lifted on his chest. It’s like this was something he was waiting to hear for some loathsome reason that even he doesn’t quite understand. It’s hard to think of Natasha having feelings for someone else, even if it was years ago. Even if he doesn’t quite know what her feelings for him are, either.

Now that everyone is here and things are happening, he wants to talk about it even more. He wants it so much, only there isn’t any time to do it. It feels selfish just to think about it. The world is at stake and all he can think about is whether a girl likes him or not. The thought makes him shake his head that night, before their time jump and after everyone has fallen asleep. He’s in bed, playing out all the possible scenarios for the upcoming day, when she slips into his room and into his bed.

“Sleeping?” She whispers as she curls around his back.

He pulls her arm tight around him and lets out a relieved sigh just having her close.

“You know I’m not.”

“Are you nervous?”

Steve turns and slips his arms around her. She fits so perfectly against his chest.

“A little,” he says as he strokes her hair and kisses her forehead.

“It’ll work,” she says quietly.

“What will it cost, though?”

She doesn’t answer, she just pulls herself closer to him and kisses him. It feels like a promise. Like a beginning instead of an ending.

xXx

Natasha smiles across the circle from him before her helmet slips closed.

“See you in a minute.”


End file.
